


The Consulting Detective and His Pathologist

by theSapphireSky



Series: The Detective and the Pathologist [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another collection of Sherlolly ficlets, a follow-up to The Pathologist and the Consulting Detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Bit of Revenge

It hadn't been a huge row, but it was enough for Molly to angrily stomp her way through the day. Sherlock, of course, had no idea that that what he had done was wrong and shrugged her anger off as hormonal.

Molly had steamed all day, until she met Mary for dinner. The blonde had immediately known that something had happened and jokingly demanded that Molly spill all.

'It's silly, I know, but the fact that he didn't take into consideration that it would hurt my feelings,' Molly lamented, poking at her meal.

'It's the end of the honeymoon phase,' Mary sympathised. 'He's used to you being sweet and accommodating, that he forgets that you're not invincible to his moods.'

Molly smiled. 'True. I guess I just got used to him being overly attentive that I forgot that the man I fell in love with can be quite emotionally blind.' She took a sip of her water and frowned. 'But there's still a small part of me that wants to punish him, make him suffer a little.'

Mary quirked her eyebrow. 'Oh? Is that a vindictive side I'm seeing in you, Mrs Holmes?'

'Perhaps,' Molly laughed. 'I'd never be able to hurt him, though. I would hate myself.'

'Well, that depends on your form of revenge.'

Molly tilted her head in question.

Mary leaned forward and whispered, 'The best way to punish a husband is to deny him.'

'Deny him?'

The former assassin giggled at Molly's innocence and waggled her eyebrows. 'You know... the goods.'

Molly's face burned red. 'I-I-I can't do that.'

'That good, huh? Can't keep your hands off each other?' Mary teased. She relished her friend's discomfort for a moment, before continuing. 'I guarantee, you dress sexy, tease him a bit, then just when he's putty in your hands, you douse him in cold water... hypothetically, of course.' Her eyes suddenly gleamed. 'Although...'

Molly laughed quietly as her thoughts drifted. Sherlock was just a man, after all. And he was subject to his base instincts, as he'd proven every night he could since their physical relationship began. Perhaps it was worth a shot. Just to get back at him a little.

An evil grin began to form. Yes. This plan definitely had great potential.

* * *

When Sherlock's footsteps sounded on the stairs to 221b later than night, Molly quickly arranged herself on the bed, ready to go into battle. He had texted her that afternoon that he was on a case and might be home late. Which worked for her, giving her plenty of time to make herself as desirable as possible. She shaved her legs, brushed her hair until it shone, and dressed in his favorite lingerie set under the camel-colored dressing gown she had stolen from him.

She grinned wickedly. He would be unable to resist. And when he caved... oh, then she'd let the other shoe drop.

The door to the bedroom opened and her husband shouldered his way in.

'Hello, love,' Molly purred seductively from her perch on their bed, setting down the book she had been pretending to read and pushing her glasses up her nose. He was ever so appreciative of her 'bookish' look. 'How was the case?'

'Brilliant!' Sherlock exclaimed, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. She smiled at his giddiness. He shrugged off his suit jacket and went to hang it in the wardrobe. 'It started as a 6, but turned out to be a 9! Oh, it was Christmas! John wasn't thrilled about it...'

Molly normally had no trouble paying attention to Sherlock. But tonight, as he unbuttoned his tight shirt, she found her thoughts drifting far from his case talk. She groaned almost inaudibly as he shucked off his shirt and tossed it in the laundry bin.

Sherlock didn't appear to notice. 'It wasn't until we were trapped in the rafters that we realized neither of us had told Graham which warehouse we were in...'

'Mmmm.' Molly licked her lips as he began working on his trousers. To her great disappointment, he suddenly walked into the bathroom, out of her sight, but still talking.

'John knocked the first guy out, while I managed to incapacitate the other two...' The sound of running water and him brushing his teeth interrupted his story momentarily. Shaking herself out of her daze, Molly chastised herself. Time to get back in the game. She slid out of the dressing gown and arranged herself in a casually seductive pose atop the covers.

Sherlock walked out of the bathroom in his pants and slid into the bed beside her. She pouted at how he ignored her display, growing ever more frustrated as he placed his hands behind his head and grinned in triumph. She tried to keep her gaze from drifting to his bare chest, but that was an exercise in futility. 'By the time Graham figured out which warehouse we were in, we had them tied in parachute cord and-!'

'Oh, shut up!' Unable to stay strong, Molly suddenly lunged at him, cutting off his words with a passionate kiss. Sherlock froze for a second in shock, but quickly caught up and pulled her across his chest, eagerly deepening the kiss into a heavy snog.

Panting, Molly finally pulled back and glared down at his smug face. 'You knew all along, didn't you?'

'John has spent many a day complaining about Mary's schemes to make him suffer. It wasn't hard to deduce what you were doing.' He quirked an eyebrow as his thumbs rubbed circles over her silk-covered thighs. 'Did you really think I would be so easily susceptible to your womanly wiles?'

Molly sat up and raised her eyebrows. 'Womanly wiles?'

Realizing he was most definitely now treading on dangerous ground, Sherlock rolled them over and kissed her frowning lips. 'Mmmm, natural sexiness?'

Molly laced her arms behind his head and heaved a sigh. 'I know what you're doing, but quite frankly, I don't care at the moment. Now shut up and kiss me.'

Sherlock grinned and proceeded to prove that she didn't, in fact, need any womanly wiles to seduce him.


	2. How Long?

**Sherlock** : *bursts into the lab in, agitated* Molly, are you aware that our friends believe us to be in a romantic relationship?

**Molly** : *calmly adds a drop to the vial in her hand* Yes.

**Sherlock** : *freezes in confusion* Why did you not correct them?

**Molly** : *furrows her brow in concentration* Because we are in a relationship.

**Sherlock** : *checks his Mind Palace* … we are?

**Molly** : *purses her lips and makes a note of her findings* Mmhmm.

**Sherlock** : Since when?

**Molly** : *puts down her work and finally looks at him* Since you took me out for fish and chips after arresting the Fake Moriarty.

**Sherlock** : *brings up the memory file* …oh.

**Molly** : *smirks* Ye _p_.

**Sherlock** : *indignant* Were you ever going to tell me?

**Molly** : I thought I’d see how long it took for you to realize.

**Sherlock** : *calculates the timeframe* So, that would be-

**Molly** : Three months and 18 days.

**Sherlock** : Ah. And our experiments and take-away nights at Baker Street have been-

**Molly** : Dates? Yes.

**Sherlock** : How long were you planning on keeping it from me?

**Molly** : *grins cheekily* Long enough to be able lord it over you for a good long while once you did realize we were dating.

**Sherlock** : *pouts*

**Molly** : *approaches him and wraps her arms around his neck* Would a kiss from your girlfriend help soothe your injured ego?

**Sherlock** : *rolls his eyes* There’s no proof that a physical display will-mmpff!

**Molly** : *tugs his head down and cuts him off with a passionate kiss*

**Sherlock** : *breaking away, panting* Will definitely need more data, but the results are looking promising.


	3. Secret Admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am Potter!lock trash.

For the third time in two days, Molly found herself as the center of attention in the Great Hall. She had gone almost seven years without drawing too much attention to herself. And now, in her final year, someone was determined to shine a spotlight on her.

Yesterday, an owl had swept over the Hufflepuff table during breakfast and dropped a brown parcel onto her scrambled eggs. Inside was a heart-shaped box of her favourite chocolates. A small note, written in sharp, spiky letters, read _‘To the girl whose heart is as sugary sweet as these candies.’_

Her befuddlement might have gone unnoticed if Irene Adler hadn’t leaned over from the Slytherin table and snatched it from her hand, cackling to the entire hall about the pathetic, mousey Molly having caught the eye of some silly first year. John and Mary had let loose a stream of curses at the other girl that would have gotten them a month’s detention had any professors been nearby. Sherlock had just glowered at Irene, a curious flush on his face.

That evening, her embarrassment had barely begun to fade when once again she was forced into the spotlight. She had just filled her plate and picked up her fork to take a bite of her less-than-favorite meal when the food vanished entirely. She jerked back in surprise and glanced around to see that everyone else was digging in. She looked back down and nearly fell backwards off the bench. Instead of the silver plate and heaps of meat and potatoes, in front of her was a porcelain bowl with skulls etched along the rim, overflowing with scoops of Superman ice cream, the brilliant colors a stark contrast to the white bowl. It was a Muggle treat, something her father would bring out of the freezer at home when she needed a pick-me-up, something she hadn’t been able to find the magical equivalent of at Hogwarts.

Her friends’ conversations died away as they noticed the strange concoction. A few Muggle-borns exclaimed in jealous delight at the sight, word spreading quickly down the table and out to the other Houses.

A note written in the same hand as the first rested half-way underneath the bowl. She pulled it free and blushed as she read.  _‘A treat for the superhero who is always saving me.’_

She frowned, trying to think of who it could be. But with everyone clamoring around her, she could hardly string two logical thoughts together. The murmurs faded into the background as Molly hesitantly picked up her spoon and scooped off a small portion of the rainbow treat. The minute the frozen concoction caressed her taste buds, she let out a delighted moan. Oh, she had missed this.

Mary and John snuck a few bites, but when she offered a bit to Sherlock, instead of sneering down at the treat in derision, as she expected him to, gave her a sincere smile and politely declined.

Students strained their necks trying to get a glance of the strange ice cream, their eyes widening in envy as Molly licked her spoon clean of the last scoop. Their disappointed groans followed her as she stood and shouldered her way out of the Great Hall with her friends, her thumb rubbing along the edge of the note in her pocket. She had her suspicions of who her secret admirer was. And she dearly hoped she was right.

And the next morning, she stood in the middle of the Great Hall, the ceiling dazzled with early morning fog and streams of magical sunlight, and her suspicions were confirmed, to her disbelieving delight. She had been enjoying a quiet breakfast with John and Mary when Sherlock strode up to the table with purpose, his neatly pressed robes billowing out around him. Molly smiled up at their friend, her greeting dying on her lips when he didn’t sit down, but instead hauled her to her feet and crushed his lips to hers.

She froze, trying to understand what was happening.  _Sherlock Holmes is kissing you, you idiot! KISS HIM BACK!_  She sighed and let her arms fall over his shoulders, her heart racing as he pressed further into her. The laughter and cat-calls around them didn’t phase her, her mind completely filled with the high of Sherlock’s lips. She gasped against his mouth when he dipped her back, his body molded over hers, and turning her surprise into giggles of delight.

Finally, he straightened up and broke the kiss, but didn’t remove his arms from their iron hold around her waist. She breathed in deeply and moved her hands down to his chest, trying to regain her equilibrium. ‘Um, okay.’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Just ‘okay’? A bevy of adjectives at your disposal, and you choose ‘okay’?’

‘Earth-shaking, fantastic… good?’ She winked cheekily. He huffed, his reddened lips pursing into a pout. ‘You could have just said something, you know. You didn’t have to make such a big show. Not that it hasn’t been appreciated.’ She bit her lip and looked up through her eyelashes at her no-longer-secret admirer. Sherlock Holmes, her best friend and the boy she’d been in love with since third year, was holding her in his arms and looking down at her as though the she was the most precious thing in his world.

‘Yes, I could have. But after putting up with me for so many years, I reasoned you deserve some special attention.’

Molly blushed and fiddled with the Ravenclaw insignia on his robes. The entire hall was watching them, most in great relief, having had enough of the pompous prat scaring off any boy who came within three feet of his friend, yet refusing to acknowledge any feelings he had for her, whatsoever. The only exceptions seemed to be John and Mary, the former begrudgingly handing a small bag of galleons to his smug girlfriend with a mumbled ‘Never should have made a bet that his plan wouldn’t work,’ and Irene Adler, who was clutching the shards of a glass goblet, her face screwed into an expression of murderous rage.

‘So, you kind of like me, then?’ Molly asked with a knowing smile.

‘It would seem so.’ He sighed heavily. ‘To my great surprise, I more than like you. Love, would be a far more accurate description.’

Beaming in unconstrained delight, she was about to reward his admission with another kiss when they were interrupted by a fondly exasperated voice.

‘As delighted as we all are that the two of you have gotten your act together, we would appreciate it if you would continue your… discussion in a private place, remembering that you are still students of this school for another three days.’

Molly jerked her hands away from Sherlock and turned in his arms to face Professor McGonagall. ‘Sorry, professor.’ She wiggled out of Sherlock’s embrace, to his aggravation.

He reached out and caught her hand, lacing his fingers tightly with hers, and began pulling her out of the Great Hall, calling out behind him, ‘My apologies, Professor McGonagall.’ Just before he shut the large door behind them, he turned back and winked at the smiling professor. ‘We’ll send you an invitation to the wedding in a year or two.’

‘Sherlock!’


	4. Practical Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Potter!lock for the ever delightful lilsherlockian1975!

The winter wind bit at her cheeks as she trudged through the snow along the quickly fading path. The footprints of students who are already returned to the castle were barely discernable in the drifting snow. Molly buried her face deeper into her thick blue and black striped scarf and soldiered on, her thick robes gathering a thick layer of snow along the hem.

‘Molly! Molly, wait!’

She frowned at the faint call and looked over her shoulder in surprise to see a black blur struggling towards her. She felt her cheeks flush, and not from the cold, when she recognized her boyfriend beneath the scarf and, dear heavens, what was that _thing_ on his head?!

‘What is that?!’ Her eyes widened as soon as the words left her mouth. She hadn’t meant to ask that, but when Sherlock jogged up to her side, she relaxed to hear his deep chuckle.

‘It’s a deerstalker, a muggle hat.’ He grumbled and pulled on the fur-lined flaps that covered his ears. His curls burst out around the bottom of the strange hat and his usually pale cheeks were bright red, bringing her focus to his face and the brilliance of his eyes. ‘Mycroft sent it to me as a practical joke this past Christmas.’

‘You don’t seem to be fond of it,’ Molly noticed as they resumed their struggles back to the castle. ‘Why not wear something else?’

Sherlock snorted and she looked at him in surprise. ‘I would. But unfortunately, I neglected to bring my usual cap before leaving the dormitory this morning and this happened to be in the pocket of my robe. I am sure John was a part of this with Mycroft, hiding my old hat and charming this wretched thing to be unnoticed until I was desperate enough to use it to keep my ears from being frozen off.’

Molly frowned in confusion and they stepped into the outer corridors of the castle, relieved to be out of the bitter wind. ‘A part of what? What’s wrong with it?’

He sighed heavily and pulled her into a nearby alcove, looking around to make sure no one was watching. Molly watched in amusement while Sherlock tried to pry the hat from his head and failed miserably. He pouted as she dissolved into giggles.

‘Molly, please refrain from laughing at my predicament and help me get this bloody thing off my head! I am due to meet with Professor Lestrade in less than an hour and I’d rather not have the man laugh at me while I’m asking him for a referral for the detective liaison position at the muggle New Scotland Yard!’

Molly bit her lip and tried to hold in her laughter as she pulled out her wand. ‘What makes you think I can charm it off if _you_ can’t?’

‘Because you’re Molly,’ he replied. ‘You always help me.’

She quirked an eyebrow.

‘And you won’t be able to run your fingers through my hair when we kiss unless you can get this _thing_ off my head!’

_Ah. He has a point._ She narrowed her eyes and teased, ‘Maybe I don’t want to kiss you.’

‘Mooooollleeeeee,’ he whined, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. ‘Please?’ His bottom lip out, he softened his eyes and gave her the puppy-dog look that never failed to win her over.

Rolling her eyes fondly at him, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips and stepped back, raising her wand. Within two minutes, the hat was off his head. Sherlock shook out his curls and audibly groaned in relief.

‘Now,’ Molly said, sliding her arms over his shoulders and standing on her tiptoes. ‘I believe I’ve earned myself a reward.’

Sherlock smirked as her fingers threaded through his now-free curls. He happily acquiesced to her request and pressed his lips to hers. Molly easily deepened the kiss and pulled his curls, causing his knees to shake momentarily. Taking advantage of his brief lapse in focus, Molly reached behind him and picked up the charmed deerstalker from the ledge Sherlock had dropped it on. Quickly pocketing it, she smiled into the kiss.

It might come in handy again someday.


	5. Of Bitter Words and Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for the fantastic ElenneM on FF who asked for an angsty fight fic with happy ending.

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing throughout the flat, and settling heavy on Molly’s heart. She could hear Sherlock’s retreat down the stairs and out into the night. She wanted to move, to run after him, to run to the window and call him back, to do  _something_  other than stand and hear her own words echo in her mind.

_‘It was our_ anniversary _, Sherlock. Does that mean nothing to you?’_

_‘If you had told me, I wouldn’t have taken the case!’_

_‘You have a bloody Mind Palace! Isn’t there a calendar in the damn thing? Why do I have to remind you?’_

Slowly, she moved into the kitchen, as though in a stupor. Her body went through the motions of putting on the kettle, but her mind and heart were numb. It was their first anniversary as a couple. She knew Sherlock was not adept at social cues and norms, she loved him for it, usually getting a little laugh whenever he stumbled and having him shut her up with a kiss.

But today was supposed to be special. And he’d forgotten.

_‘We can celebrate it tomorrow, I’ll take you out to Angelo’s. I’ll buy you a present. I’ll even beg Mycroft for tickets to that play you wanted to see!’_

_‘That’s not what I want, Sherlock!’_

_‘Well, what_ do  _you want? Because I can’t read minds, Molly! I know you think I can, but this… this sentiment is not my area! Just tell me!’_

She pulled her usual cup and saucer from its spot. Without really paying attention, she poured the tea into the cup and added cream and sugar. Sitting at the table, she slowly stirred it. The fight had unleashed a thousand other little fights that had been building up. All the annoyances and aggravations and insecurities that they had kept bottled up for twelve months had been poured out on the other in that one fight.

_‘I don’t expect you to be Mr Darcy, but for once, for_ once _, I’d like to think I rate higher than a 7!’_

_‘You… you think I put cases before you?! And who the hell is this Darcy fellow? One of your numerous ex-lovers? Did you sleep with him like you did with_ Jim from IT? _’_

_‘He’s a fictional chara-How dare you! You know I did not sleep with Jim!’_

_‘You have to admit, you’ve been a bit promiscuous in the past. The third date is the magic number right? And considering you and I slept together before we even went out once… Well, it was a logical conclusion.’_

_‘Well, you’re wrong. And of the two of us, you’re the promiscuous one, with your perfectly tailored clothes, coiffed hair, and, oh, that night in Karachi with a_ dominatrix _! At least my sexual relationships have been with people I care for and not just a meaningless shag!’_

The tea was growing cold while Molly stirred absentmindedly, leaning on the table and resting her head in her hand. The ache in her chest was growing with every minute that passed as her mind taunted her with her own careless words.

_‘Just because I use my appearance to my advantage does not make me promiscuous. At least I don’t hide behind baggy trousers and hideous jumpers because I’m afraid that no one will like me ‘just for who I am’ and can blame it on the clothes!’_

_‘You may be beautiful in appearance, Sherlock Holmes, but that means nothing when your heart is cold and unfeeling! My god, you’re practically a machine!’_

Her heart clenched painfully as her shock faded and she hiccupped a sob, dropping her head onto the table as the tears finally came.

A machine. She’d called him a machine.

She could still see the hurt and betrayal hit him as her words fell between them. His anger vanished in an instant and all she could see was the naïve little boy inside staring back at her with heartbreak written across his face.

Suddenly, none of it seemed important. None of the little irritations she’d hoarded, none of the insecurities she’d held onto, none of her hurt over the forgotten anniversary, none of it mattered as Sherlock shuttered his eyes and strode from the flat, slamming the door in his wake.

What had she done?

* * *

The park bench was cold and unforgiving. A lot like him, Sherlock mused, burrowing deeper into the coat he’d never gotten a chance to take off. Night had fallen long ago, the city transitioning from day workers to night life. But the usual hum that filled his rattling mind with peace was nowhere to be found, replaced with a chorus of words… well, one word.

Machine.

He clenched his jaw and fought back the tears that pricked his eyes. He wasn’t prone to sentimental cliché, sneering at those romantic comedies and dramas Molly loved so much. But to hear from the woman he loved and lived with, that she thought he was a machine… suddenly he understood why heroes and heroines in those movies acted as they did, why they cried or stormed out or withdrew. The hurt that one person can inflict with a single word, the one person you trusted above all others to  _not_  break you, was devastating.

No, not devastating.

That was too small a word.

It felt as though his blood had run cold and his lungs would never fill again, his heart caught in a vice of pain, crushing him until he couldn’t bear to look at her any longer.

A small portion of his mind argued that he  _had_ forgotten their anniversary and that she was justified in her anger. But he knew it was more than just the anniversary that escalated the fight. It was all her insecurities and his, all the stress of trying to live together and compromise, every little thing they did that irritated the other, all of it wrapped up tight until suddenly set loose tonight.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Sentiment, caring, love… it wasn’t worth this pain.

* * *

The night was lightening, thick fog settling over the park, when Sherlock finally stood and made his way back home. No sound came from the flat above him when he stepped inside the foyer and quietly climbed the stairs. The door to 221b was closed, slightly splintered along the doorframe from when he’d slammed it. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the knob and stepped inside.

Nothing had changed since he had left. Molly’s present for him still sat, unopened, on the kitchen table, next to the meal she’d set out in hopes he’d be home in time to eat it, which had long since gone cold. A cup and saucer, however, sat next to the sink, filled with tea but undrunk.

He glanced down the hall to see their bedroom door propped open. Slowly, he walked over and peered inside.

The bed hadn’t been slept in and there no sign of Molly from what he could see. Opening the door all the way, he stepped inside. He glanced around and was about to leave when he caught a flash of brown hair at the foot of the bed. 

Exhaling, he walked over and looked down at his girlfriend, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs and her face buried in her knees. With a slight grunt, he sat down beside her, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Molly turned her face toward him, her eyes rimmed red with exhaustion and tears, and he felt some of his hurt fade at the sorrow in her expression. He pursed his lips and stared straight ahead. She had hurt him deeply and he wasn’t going to let her big brown eyes weaken his resolve to be angry.

They sat in silence for a time, the rising sun slowly illuminating the floor before them.

‘You know I don’t think you’re a machine,’ Molly finally said, her voice hoarse from crying and exhaustion.

Sherlock nodded once and flicked his gaze over to her. ‘But you still said it. And in that moment, you truly believed it.’

Sniffling, she pressed her lips against her arm and wiped her fresh tears against the sleeve of her dressing gown. ‘I’m so sorry. I was… I was just so  _angry_  and  _hurt_  that you’d forgotten-’

‘This wasn’t just about our anniversary,’ he interrupted, finally turning to look at her. ‘Wasn’t it? This was about all the annoying things we do that we’ve been holding back from each other.’

She closed her eyes and pulled her legs closer. ‘Yeah.’

He sighed. ‘So what do we do?’

She shrugged. ‘Either we work it out and find a way to move past this… or we break up.’

He would have to be blind, or Anderson, to miss the stark fear on her face. He would do anything to never see that again.

Slowly, he reached over and trailed his hand along her arm, before threading his fingers through hers. She swallowed and looked up at him in hesitant belief. 

‘Then we work things out. Because breaking up with you will  _never_ be an option.’


	6. Catch Me If I Fall

The rain was pouring steadily down on the crowd, their cheers barely rising above the distant sound of thunder. The Quidditch match was coming to a close, at least Molly hoped so, she didn’t know how much longer she could stay on her broom. She hovered in front of the three Hufflepuff hoops, her black and yellow robes weighing her down as she kept an eye on the Quaffle as it passed from player to player, their brooms spraying water as they zipped through the air.

The Ravenclaw seeker flew by, a blur of black and blue. She watched as Sherlock wove in and out of players, looking for the glint of gold in the downpour. Molly cursed the rain for hindering his, until now, impeccable Seeking abilities. Normally, she would not wish a loss on her Hufflepuff teammates, but she was cold, wet, and exhausted. And she just wanted the game to end. By the grumbling of the rest of the players, they agreed with her sentiment.

The players had gathered over by the Ravenclaw hoops, the commentator crying out another point for Hufflepuff, when it happened. A large black object came shooting out of the sheets of rain directly at her. With no time to react, the Bludger hit her shoulder, knocking her back with a burst of pain.

The world tilted and her stomach churned as she was flipped backwards. The horrified gasps of those few who witnessed it were lost in the sudden rush of adrenaline, her heart pumping furiously as the world righted itself, only she was no longer atop her broom, but hanging on with one hand desperately gripping the wet handle. She reached up, trying to catch the handle with her other hand, but the slippery wood wasn’t cooperating. Her stomach roiled in fear as her hand slipped slightly and her feet dangled in the air helplessly, the weight of her sopping wet robes pulling her down.

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ she whispered frantically. She closed her eyes just as her grip failed and she plummeted to the ground, the wind beating against her as she screamed. She braced herself for impact, already anticipating the bliss of unconsciousness, when she was suddenly snatched out of the air, an arm tight around her waist, holding her against a firm chest.

‘I’ve got you,’ the familiar baritone voice rumbled over her, sending warmth through her chilled body. She clutched at Sherlock’s robes, her hands shaking and tears mixing with the raindrops coursing down her cheeks. Gently setting down on the field, Sherlock easily scooped his arm underneath her legs and hauled her up against his chest, leaving his broom abandoned on the grass. She cried out in pain at the jostling of her injured shoulder.

Madam Pomfrey bustled out onto the field while the rest of the players touched down and looked over Molly once before ushering her to the hospital wing.

Molly made to leave Sherlock’s hold, reluctantly, but he held fast. She looked up at him as he started the trek back to the castle. ‘Sherlock, it’s my shoulder that’s hurt, not my legs.’

He glanced down at her, but didn’t say anything, his eyes softening briefly from their usual piercing coldness. She felt her entire body flush at the worry and concern in his gaze. Biting her lip, she relented and rested her head in the curve of his neck. And when she felt his lips press gently against the crown of her head, she smiled.


	7. Pride and Deductions

Molly’s feet flew down the stairs, her hair coming out of its simple chignon in wisps as she gripped her skirts and walked away as fast as propriety allowed. She was almost to the edge of the patio, her escape in sight, when a deep voice beckoned her to stop.

‘Miss Molly!’

She closed her eyes in defeat. Knowing politeness required her to acknowledge the call, as much as she wished to ignore it, she slowed to a stop and turned around, her cheeks burning in humiliation.

His boots clacking against the stone floor, Mr Holmes strode toward her, his expression dark. His curls hung loose around over his forehead, giving him an almost childlike look, were it not for the dashing figure he cut in his waistcoat and tails. Against her will, Molly felt her heart begin to race, and not from the excitement of being caught in his home.

‘I-I thought you were in London,’ she stammered, twisting her hands in front of her and barely able to make eye contact with him. His piercing eyes never left her face and she found herself warming under his perusal.

He stopped just a few feet from her. ‘No. No, I’m not.’

Biting her lip, she looked down at her hands. ‘Right, obviously.’

They stood in silence for a moment, only to begin speaking at the same time.

‘I would not have come-’

‘I solved the case early-’

Molly bit the inside of her cheek and turned her face away. Was she always meant to humiliate herself in front of this man? He didn’t say anything more, only watching her until, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze upon her any longer, she burst out, ‘I’m so sorry, they said that you were away and the estate was open for visitors. I would not have i-intruded if I had known…’

She trailed off as he simply continued to stare at her. She had not seen him since that awful day at his aunt’s estate where it came out that he had separated her dear friend Mary from a potential marriage to his friend John, all because he felt that such a marriage could only end in the good doctor’s heartbreak, as Mary seemed only interested in John’s status and title.

Only for him to turn around that very same day and propose to her, claiming that despite her small stature, moderately appealing features, and lack of familial ties, he found himself in love with her, against his better judgement.

Her harsh words of refusal still haunted her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. And the letter he wrote to her explaining his actions, actions she now understood but did not condone, weighted her pocket, ready to be read once more.

And them to see him now, so unexpectedly, when her own feelings were so jumbled, his face a cool mask but his eyes burning into her and setting a fire in her heart… it was all the more confusing. She desperately needed to leave.

Her thoughts were clearly read on her face, for Mr Holmes finally spoke up in response to her desire to leave.

‘I assume you are staying with Miss Morstan’s family in the village. May I see you back?’

‘No!’ she exclaimed, flushing at her own zealous refusal. ‘No, thank you. I… I do so enjoy walking.’

He acknowledged her excuse with a curt nod, though never breaking his gaze.

‘Good day, Mr Holmes,’ she said with a forced sweetness and overly bright smile as she curtsied. Spinning on her heel, she walked quickly away, head held high, feeling the weight of his gaze upon her until she was out of sight of the estate.

Only then, did her heartbeat slow.


	8. Watching Over Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bond!lock Sequel to Her Protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had most of it written with the first and, needing a bit of a break from my Big Bang story, I finished it up. Enjoy, my dears!

It was the last warm day of autumn and the leaves were at their most brilliant, blazing gold and red against the setting sun. Laughter and voices carried on the breeze drifting across the countryside from the small gathering on the lawn outside the Holmes’ family cottage. Every so often, the strains of a recorded violin would interrupt the conversations and Sherlock would hold his hand out to Molly, who would toss her head back and laugh, pretending to be put out as he led her in another waltz. Her shoes abandoned long ago, she danced barefoot, the hem of her white gown sweeping across the ground as they danced and her hair falling out of its simple chignon, framing her glowing face.

When the sunlight was nearly gone and the lanterns had been lit, Sherlock lifted his gaze from Molly’s and froze. Silhouetted against moonlight, a man stood on the hill, indistinguishable from the distance to the average eye. But Sherlock instantly recognized him.

His heart skipped a beat.

‘Sherlock?’ Molly looked up at him worriedly and started to turn her head to see what had caught his attention. He stopped her with a quick kiss.

‘I’ll be right back.’

He slipped from her arms and grabbed a nearby lantern. Behind him, Mycroft had obviously known the man was coming and smoothly intercepted Molly’s attempt to follow Sherlock. The lantern’s light danced across the sloping field as he walked further from the celebration, the noise growing dim.

The man on the hill stood sentry, never breaking his gaze from Molly. The ends of his long coat waved in the gentle breeze and he’d popped his collar, the black fabric stark against his white-blond hair.

‘Hello, Sherlock.’

‘Brother,’ Sherlock replied as he stepped up to Bond’s side and turned to face the festivities on the lawn below.

Bond quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t reply.

‘She misses you.’

From the corner of his eye, Sherlock caught a flash of sorrow pass over the spy’s face.

‘I know.’

They stood in silence for a time, watching as Molly coaxed Mycroft into dancing with her. Several whiskey shots flowing through him, the British Government barely put up a fight and allowed his newly-minted sister-in-law to pull him into the open space. Sherlock and Bond let out simultaneous snorts when Mycroft lowered his usual mask of indifference and threw himself into the dance, clearly not one to hold his liquor well. Molly’s laughter cut through the air as Mycroft twirled her around and dipped her exaggeratedly.

‘You make her happy.’

Sherlock tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit. ‘Apparently so. Though I have no idea how.’

Bond chuckled softly.

‘Did you come to tell her?’ Sherlock asked, though he knew the answer.

‘No,’ Bond whispered. ‘I came to make sure she is safe. Safe… and happy.’

Sherlock felt his heart ache at the wistfulness in Bond’s voice, the sadness underneath it all that spoke of the spy’s desire to be a part of Molly’s happiness and to share in her wedding day.

‘I trust that my previous warning continues to be heeded.’

‘Indeed.’ Sherlock slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘And considering she is now related to your superior and has him wrapped around her finger, her protection is now the second highest in the country.’

Bond raised his eyebrow in question.

Sherlock smirked. ‘She plays on Mycroft’s sweet-tooth with the proficiency of a trained spy. England might fall if she ever revoked his ‘Tuesday Torte’ privileges.’

‘The great and powerful M, brought to his knees by a tiny, though fiercesome woman and her pastries.’ From the corner of his eye, Sherlock watched as Bond well and truly smiled, his angular face softening with fondness and pride. The spy let down his guard for just a moment as he watched the sister he had given up laugh and dance, all dangers forgotten and all sorrows laid aside.

‘For what it’s worth,’ Sherlock finally turned to look at his brother-in-law. ‘Your disappearance from her life, though it broke her heart, has helped form her into the Molly I love; fierce, strong, and compassionate. For that… I can only thank you.’

Bond’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, a faint sheen in his ice blue eyes.

With a tight, but sincere smile, Sherlock broke away to head back to the celebration. He hadn’t gone five steps before he stopped to call over his shoulder ‘Will you ever tell her?’

The rustling trees and distant laughter were his answer.

He looked back to find the hilltop was empty, all signs of the spy fading into the night. With a heavy sigh, he resumed his walk back to his bride, letting the disappointment fade as he watched Molly dance with his father, her laughter carrying on the light breeze as her father-in-law no doubt regaled her with stories of Sherlock’s childhood.

He smiled softly. She had already grieved for her brother and was moving on with her life. Perhaps… perhaps it was for the best if Bond didn’t return.


	9. When We're Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Series of Adventures in Dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the lyrics of When We’re Together by Mark Harris

**I'd like to sail to lands afar… Out on a boat that's built for two**

‘This is all your fault.’

Molly glared at Sherlock incredulously. ‘My fault?! If I recall, I was against this whole idea, but you insisted!’

The detective reached up and readjusted his hold on the keel, his hands scrambling to hold the slippery wood. He glared at Molly over the curve of the capsized rowboat. ‘You wanted a romantic date!’

‘Romantic, not disastrous!’ Molly shouted. She stretched her arm, kicking her legs hard to get a higher grip ‘I would have been ecstatic with a candlelit dinner at Angelo’s without you complaining about the ‘overly sentimental ambience’!’

Their argument was interrupted by the sound of a motor chugging around the bend in the river. They both turned to see a New Scotland Yard police boat heading their way, Lestrade at the helm and a laughing grin on his tanned face.

Sherlock dropped his head against the capsized canoe with a groan.

* * *

** Beneath a canopy of stars… that would be just like a dream come true **

Molly shivered and tucked her chin into the blanket.  ‘If they weren’t frozen, my fingers would be around your neck right now.’

‘Mmmmph,’ Sherlock grumbled in reply from his own cocoon. The wind battered them, turning their cheeks red and making their eyes water.

Molly huddled deeper into her blanket and shot him a dirty look. ‘Why are we here? Can’t we go back inside? Sit by a nice fire, sip some tea… you know, not die of hypothermia?’

‘Just wait.’

She rolled her eyes at his impatient tone, but was pacified when he slipped his arm out and moved her in front of him, leaning down slightly and wrapping her in his blanket. Molly smiled, warmer and content, and leaned back in his embrace.

‘There!’ Sherlock suddenly pointed at the clear night sky. Molly followed his line of sight and gasped in delight. Across the stars, multiple streaks  of light began to rain down, their trains lingering in the sky.

‘Is that…?’

‘The Perseids,’ Sherlock finished for her. ‘A common annual meteor phenomena named from its apparent source in the constellation Perseus. Though what idiot thought that particular formation of stars looks like a man…’

Molly sighed happily and rested her head against his chest as the meteors rained down around them, the cold completely forgotten as his voice rumbled over her.

* * *

** I'd like a castle on a hill… Where you and I could spend the day **

‘Sherlock, get down!’

The detective threw himself to the ground at John’s disembodied command just as a volley of arrows flew through the air where he had just been. He turned onto his back just in time to see the three hooded figures draw their bows back once more.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran down the hall toward an open door a hand reaching out and jerking him around the corner just as another round of arrows whipped passed. He stumbled into his rescuer, nearly knocking them both to the stone floor. Molly steadied him and grabbed his hand, tugging it behind her as they broke into a sprint.

‘Hurry up!’ John shouted from down the corridor, holding a large door open. Stitches in their sides, Molly and Sherlock raced toward safety, slipping inside and slamming the door closed. A trio of metallic thuds vibrated against the wood seconds later.

‘‘Come to Scotland’,’ Molly sang in a false baritone as they scrambled down the winding stone staircase.  ‘’It’ll be fun. We’ll visit some castles. You and Mary can do that shopping thing women do.’’

‘Is it my fault they’re using this place as a secret drug courier hideout?!’ Sherlock spat back.

Molly glanced back at him with a withering glare. ‘One holiday, Sherlock! One holiday without getting shot at! That’s all I ask!’

‘But they’re ninja archers, Molly!’

‘Now’s not the time, lovebirds!’ John shouted over his shoulder, just as the door above them banged open with a thunderous crash.

* * *

** And I'd love to go where time stands still… And all that doesn't matter fades away **

Baker Street was an utter disaster. Molly froze in the doorway, her mouth dropping open at the mess in front of her. Tissues littered every available surface, half-filled bowls and cups were stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, and there was a familiar Sherlock-sized lump on the sofa, buried beneath a mountain of blankets.

Dropping her work bag at her feet, she picked her way over to the lump and, shoving aside a pile of dishes and sitting on the edge of the table.

‘Sherlock?’ She whispered, pulling back the edge of the topmost blanket. Ruffled curls peeked out and a muffled groan sounded from somewhere underneath. ‘Sherlock, are you sick?’

The blankets shifted as he turned over and tugged them down away from his pale face. ‘What gave it away?’

‘Oh, dear,’ Molly tsked and brushed a hand across his feverish forehead. ‘Why didn’t you call? I could have taken off a shift or two.’

‘D’nt wan to be a probl’m,’ he sighed and closed his eyes.

Molly smiled fondly and shook her head, brushing his sweaty curls away from his face. ‘You’re never a problem. I’ll go call John for a prescription and let Mike know I’m taking the next few days off.’

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but Molly cut him off with a kiss to his forehead. ‘No arguing, Mister Detective. Now, how does a hot, relaxing shower sound?’

‘Bloody marvelous,’ came the tired reply.

* * *

** Worries seem to fade away… they become as distant memories... When we're together **

‘You’re supposed to step back.’

‘I did!’

‘With your right foot, not your left!’

‘Oh.’ Molly smiled sheepishly up at him, her shin still smarting from where he’d knocked into it. Sighing heavily, with a hint of a smile on his face, Sherlock held out his hands.

‘Let’s try it again.’

* * *

Her shoes abandoned long ago, Molly held the skirt of her dress off the ground with one hand, the glittering diamond on her finger now accompanied by a silver wedding band; her other hand was held tightly in Sherlock’s, the cool metal of his ring sending a thrill up her arm straight to her heart.

Husband.

Unable to hold back her smile at the word, Molly absolutely floated as he led them around the dance floor in a smooth waltz, their audience forgotten.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and smirked. ‘Aren’t you glad we practiced?’

Rolling her eyes fondly, Molly pinched his fingers. ‘Oh… shut up.’ 


	10. What Do We Know of Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. Another Soulmate AU... in which Molly and Sherlock find their matches through a government agency and are legally required to marry. Cue angst... and fluffiness, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much just me decompressing from my Big Bang fic and trying to find my muse again.

Mycroft stared up at the walls of St Bart's and sighed. Straightening his shoulders, he slowly made his way inside and past the bustle of weekend workers to the depths of the building. Here, in the fluorescent-lit halls, the only sound was the click of his shoes against the tiles and the occasional tap of his brolly.

The door to the lab was locked and the room was completely dark, but he knew… he knew she was in there.

Running. Hiding.

Glancing up at the CCTV camera in the corner, he raised his eyebrow. Almost immediately, his phone buzzed with an incoming message from his PA.

**55249**

He nodded to the camera in thanks and inputted the code on the keypad. The automatic lock slid back and he slipped inside. He shut the door behind him and reached for the lightswitch.

The lights flickered on to reveal Molly Hooper sitting on a stool at the far end of the work bench. She didn't look up at his entrance, her focus completely on a piece of paper in her hands. Her hair had fallen out of the elegant updo and her white gown was rumpled and slightly dirty from her run across London. But it was her expression of utter defeat on her face that brought him up short.

Taking a moment to compose his words, he slowly made his way over to her.

'I was wrong, you know.'

Mycroft stopped a few steps away from her.

She smiled sadly and traced the edges of the paper. 'I was selfish. I thought I could change his mind… convince him that love wasn't a weakness.' A tear fell onto the paper. 'But I was wrong. Because if this is strength, I want no part of it.'

He tilted his head. 'You don't mean that.'

Molly took a shaking breath and swallowed thickly, her eyes shining with fresh tears. 'No, I don't,' she whispered. 'But I wish I did.'

'You are what he needs, Miss Hooper. Whether he believes it or not.'

Sniffling, Molly forced a laugh. 'He may need me. But he does not want me. And he will never love me.'

'I regret to inform you that you are once more very much in the wrong.'

She glanced over at him.

Settling on the stool next to her, his legs brushing against the folds of her gown, he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and sent off a quick text. Three minutes was all he had now. Hopefully it would be all he needed. 'You see, my brother is an idiot. A genius, yes, but an idiot nonetheless. Comparatively, of course, to myself. He does not believe in anything intangible, anything that cannot be quantified.'

Molly's left hand twitched involuntarily, drawing Mycroft's gaze.

'May I?' He gestured toward her arm and, after a moment's hesitation, Molly let him take her hand. Turning her palm face up, he brushed his thumb across the pale white initials along her wrist.

**WSSH**

'He has spent thirty years begrudging whatever deity, universe, god, or what-have-you, that he was marked, determined to defy the inevitable. And when he met you… well, you are unquantifiable. How could it be that a stranger had been predetermined to be his perfect match? How could some unproven force break his soul in two and place the other half in someone inferior to his brilliance?'

If possible, Molly's shoulders dropped even further. Her voice wobbled as she said, 'So I had no chance. He was set against me from the beginning. And the only reason he accepted me was because of this.' More tears fell on the paper in her hand.

Mycroft sighed heavily and took it from her. The letterhead at the top bore the mark of the Soulmate Registry and from his brief skim of the contents, he deduced that it was the confirmation letter of her match to Sherlock and the resulting legal requirement to marry.

'That may have been true at first,' Mycroft stood and tucked the letter into his breast pocket, making note to push the new legislation negating the Soulmate Marriage Law through as soon as possible. 'But you are his Soulmate. And whoever designed this whole thing… well, they must have known you would change his mind.'

Laughing humorlessly, Molly shook her head. 'No. No, I didn't. I failed. And I don't know how much trouble I'm in now, but I… I can't marry him. I tried… I really did. But…' She closed her eyes. 'I fell in love with him... and I couldn't hear him promise himself to me, to love me… not when I know it's not real.'

'Wrong.'

Molly's eyes went wide when it wasn't Mycroft's voice that spoke, but a familiar deep baritone from behind him. Mycroft stepped aside and turned to the doorway. Haggard and disheveled, his tuxedo torn and his bowtie missing, Sherlock was breathing heavily and staring at his runaway bride with a thunderous expression. But Mycroft could see the relief in his eyes.

Stalking across the lab, Sherlock zeroed in on Molly with singular focus. She swallowed thickly and jumped to her feet, nearly stumbling over the train of her dress in her attempt to back away from the approaching storm.

'Sherlock,' Mycroft said warningly.

Halting a few feet from her, Sherlock struggled to rein in his temper. 'You ran. You left me at the altar and ran. No phone call. No note. No bride. Just an empty church and my Soulmate somewhere in London, hiding from me.'

'I didn't want to force you...' she whispered.

'Force me?' His face darkened and he glowered at her. 'I would not have been waiting for you at that altar if I did not want to be.'

Her breaths coming rapidly, Molly stared up at him in hesitant hope. Sherlock took another step closer.

Molly stepped back and a flash of sadness crossed Sherlock's face.

'Do I make you feel so unwanted?'

Molly glanced away, unable to stop him from deducing her unspoken answer.

Suddenly, he reached out and grasped her hand. She shuddered at his touch, the warmth of his hand warming her aching heart. She tried to tug her hand back, but he held fast. His own mark burned at the very touch of her, the pale-white  **MEH**  throbbing in sync with his racing heart.

He murmured, 'You are wanted, Molly Hooper.  _I_  want you. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that... I'm sorry that it took you leaving me at the altar for me to see that a future without you is a future I want no part of.'

Molly stopped struggling, caught in his earnest, vulnerable stare.

'I want to have your kindness and compassion, to see your brilliance and courage. I want to be your husband, your Soulmate... the good man you inspire me to be. Everything I didn't know I could ask for, I found in you.'

Her mark burned hot as his finger lightly caressed the pale flesh.

'You were right about one thing, though. I am a selfish man.' He closed the distance between them, holding her hand captive against his chest. He was close enough now to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, to see the thrum of her heartbeat in her throat, to hear the slight hitch in her breath when his body brushed against hers. 'So what makes you think I'll ever let you go?'

Molly licked her lips, her mouth suddenly quite dry. Her pulse raced against his fingertips as she breathless asked the one question she needed answered above all else, 'Do you love me?'

Their future together balancing on the edge of a knife, Sherlock knew there was only one way to truly convince her of his feelings. Cupping the back of her neck, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Immediately, the world around them faded as their marks burned bright, the sign of two souls not only meeting, but accepting the other. Molly gasped against his mouth, her eyes going wide before slowly closing as she melted against him. Sherlock caught her around the waist and held her tightly, relief and joy flooding his body as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss.

Having slipped out some time before, forgotten by the couple, Mycroft stepped away from the lab door and pulled out his mobile.

**Wedding Scenario Beta is now a go. Regroup the wedding party.**


	11. Of Bees and Clothing Conundrums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from the fabulous SherlollyandSpoilers: Congrats on the followers, love!!!!!! I guess my prompt is: Molly buys Sherlock a shirt covered in bees as a joke but he wears it around his flat all the time.

At first, she put it down to a passing interest when a body rolled into her morgue covered in bee stings. Sherlock had lit up like a Christmas tree and proceeded to weedle his way into convincing Molly to give him several skin grafts to study the stings.

A few months later, Halloween, a young woman in a slutty honeybee costume wound up on the cold slab and not ten minutes later, Sherlock stood over Molly’s shoulder as she examined the unfortunate victim. He proceeded to lecture her on the inaccuracy of the costume as opposed to the true anatomy of a honeybee. Molly tuned him out after a few minutes when it became clear he wouldn’t be contributing to the actual examination.

Eventually she did finally realize that, of all things, Sherlock Holmes was utterly fascinated by bees. And it made her fall in love with him all the more. The very mention of anything bee-related and he would drop whatever he was doing.

After they began dating and moved in together, Molly began slowly sneaking bee-inspired knick knacks into their flat. It started subtly; a black-and-yellow striped throw pillow on the sofa, a bar of beeswax soap in the bath,…

But when none of that elicited a response from her detective, she got bold.

Her taste in clothing had always been rather eclectic and bright, so no one really noticed when she started wearing mostly sunny yellow outfits with black accessories. Or when she splurged on two stunning gold hair pins shaped like bees. No one, except Sherlock. And if he found her more fascinating than usual, well that was between them in the privacy of their flat.

Sherlock, however, had maintained his trademark posh style for decades. Not a tousled hair out of place or a wrinkle in his tailored suit, unless he had purposefully mussed himself up for a case.

All of which Molly took as a direct challenge.

Her initial attempts were largely unsuccessful. No matter how she tried to sweet-talk him, seduce him, or trick him, none of her taste made a dent in his wardrobe. Even the black t-shirt she’d had made with ‘World’s ONLY Consulting Detective’ emblazoned across it in silver had been tossed in the bin. 

He saw right through her ploys.

But then she found the perfect shirt.

She hadn’t thought it would be successful, but when she’d seen the t-shirt in the out-of-the-way shop with a plethora of cheap cotton shirts boasting any and every thing, she couldn’t help herself to one last try.

And now, as she saw on the sofa flipping through a medical journal, she snuck a peek up at her boyfriend who stood over her, mapping out his latest case on the wall behind her. His designer dressing gown gaped open, revealing the baggy white shirt with a sketch of the proportions and anatomy of an Apis Mellifera, the Eastern European Honeybee, in the middle, reminiscent of DaVinci’s  _Vitruvian Man._

She loved him for all his eccentricities and his posh style. But seeing him in a five quid t-shirt with a bee on it melted her heart and made her fall in love with him all over again.

Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible and leaned over her to tack another string between clues. Glancing down at her, he quirked his eyebrow knowingly when he caught her gaze on his shirt. Unashamed at being caught, Molly tilted her head up expectantly and smiled when he rolled his eyes fondly and leaned down to kiss her.

Sighing happily, Molly looked back down at her journal while Sherlock returned his attention to the wall, his focus once more all-consumed by the case.

Maybe she should look into buying him those yellow boxers with cartoon bees on them. Her grin widened at the thought and she absentmindedly turned the page. Yes, those would most  _definitely_ suit him. 


	12. A Bee in His Boxers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from mychakk on FF.net: Can you write a follow-up with John finding out about the boxers? The boys are stuck somewhere on the case sharing unexpectedly a room and the... Bee is out of the closet? ;) pretty pretty please with cherry on top? :)

Not for the first time, John considered retiring from being Sherlock's Blogger/Partner-in-Crime-Solving/Keeper.

Barging into the hotel room Sherlock had rented for them, John immediately made a beeline for the bathroom, grabbing his duffel bag on the way. Locking the door, (he'd learned the hard way that Sherlock had no concept of privacy even if a door was closed) he began taking off the wet, dirty, river-stenched clothes that stuck to his skin.

'Last time I let him talk me into playing hero…' he grumbled. The cold air bit at his wet skin and he quickly hopped under the hot spray. Outside, he could hear Sherlock rummaging about, then speaking, probably using the room phone to tell Mycroft the case was done and check in with Molly, no doubt embellishing his heroics.

John huffed. As long as the detective admitted that John was the one to jump into the frigid, murky river to save the victim while Sherlock tackled the kidnapper.

Though, to be fair, all four did end up treading water in the end.

Turning off the water, John grabbed a towel and quickly dried off. Sherlock may be a berk, but he didn't deserve to suffer in a dirty, wet suit.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he left the bathroom.

And immediately came to a dead stop.

His back to the bathroom door, Sherlock had stripped out of his wet clothes and was down to just his pants.

His bright yellow, tight briefs.

'Whoa!' John exclaimed, raising his hand to cover his eyes, but not quickly enough. Sherlock spun around in surprise, giving John the perfect view of the front of the pants before he clapped his hand across his eyes: a cute cartoon bee strategically placed over Sherlock's… nether regions.

'Ah, good. You're done.'

John stumbled toward the nearest bed, waving his hand in front of him like a blind man. 'What on earth, Sherlock?!'

'You were taking too long in the bathroom and my body temperature was dropping. I needed to get out of those wet clothes.' Sherlock's voice sounded closer as he walked toward the bathroom.

John dropped onto the bed, still covering his eyes. 'I get that! But what's with the 'bee' briefs?!'

'Ah.' John peeked through his fingers. The detective stood in the door of the bathroom, his bag of clothes held in front of his… bee. John lowered his hand and smirked as Sherlock's ears turned pink. 'I...erm…'

'You didn't have those when we lived together. I'd remember,' John accused. 'You snuck your dirty clothes into my laundry bin often enough.'

A grin, not unlike the cat who got the cream, crept across John's face. 'So you must have started wearing them within the past few years.'

Sherlock averted his gaze.

'And the biggest change in that time is... Molly Hooper.'

'Fine, yes. Molly bought me these,' Sherlock snapped. He shivered in the cold air and John felt a twinge of guilt, but couldn't bring himself to particularly care. Oh, this was rich! Mary was going to be over the moon when he told her about this!

'I wear them… occasionally,' Sherlock admitted begrudgingly.

John quirked an eyebrow. 'How often is 'occasionally'?'

Sherlock shuffled back and forth a bit and adjusted his bag. 'Overnight cases. Happy? May I take my shower now?'

Without waiting for an answer, he spun about, giving John another front seat view of his yellow-clad arse before the bathroom door slammed shut behind him.

_Molly Hooper is extraordinary._

Not only had she won the Detective's nearly non-existent heart, but she had him wearing cartoon boxers. And it made even a romantic heart like John's melt at the thought that the usually cold man wore such cliche pants when he was away from the woman he loved, just to feel closer to her.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't going to milk this moment for all it was worth.

Lunging for the room phone, he couldn't help laughing as he dialed Mary's number.

_'Hello?'_

'Mary, it's John. You're not gonna believe this.'


	13. Just Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Uni!lock Sherlolly set in the early 1900s. Just because I’m in the mood for some good, old-fashioned sweetness. Enjoy, my loves!

He first saw her when he was crossing the King’s College Bridge on his way to class. He hadn’t meant to look down, but the sound of laughter drifted up and he scowled in the direction of the noise. A tall, gangly boy was pushing a punt through the water below. Three girls sat inside, two of whom, elaborate hats on their heads, had their backs to him and he instantly knew the loud, obnoxious laughter was coming from them. 

The third had her face buried in a book.

Unknowingly, he stopped and leaned against the stone railing. The girl’s brown hair was pulled back in a soft braid, uncovered, and wisps dangled over her face, which she kept blowing out of the way. Her eyes danced across the page as she read, clearly engrossed in the tale. 

Suddenly, as if sensing his gaze, she raised her head and looked straight up at him. A becoming blush stained her cheeks and she lifted her hand in a small wave, just as the punt disappeared under the bridge.

Shaking himself from his momentary lapse, Sherlock resumed his trek to class. But the memory of her wide, brown eyes stayed with him for the rest of the day.

* * *

Nearly a year passed by the time he saw her again. He was on his way to the laboratory, an experiment ruminating in his mind, and wasn’t paying much attention to what was in front of him until he was knocked off his feet by a small, decidedly female body running into him.

They both tumbled to the ground and he landed hard on his bum, the girl atop him.

He grimaced in pain and opened his eyes, a harsh word on the tip of his tongue, only to find himself staring into the brown eyes that had never managed to be forgotten. 

‘I-I-I’m so sorry!’ She stammered, quickly scrambling off of him and helping him to his feet. He stared at her in bemusement as she blurted, ‘Are you okay? I should have watched where I was going, but you see, I’m late and they’re going to be so angry, and I truly didn’t mean to run into you-’

‘Molly! Come on!’ A blonde-haired girl called behind her. 

_Molly_  bit her lip and looked back at her friend over her shoulder. ‘I need to go. I really am sorry!’

Before Sherlock could think of anything to say to get her to stay, she took off. 

He watched, stunned, as she and her friend disappeared around the science building. 

His mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. ‘Molly,’ he breathed.

* * *

He wasn’t going to let her get away again. 

It was the first beautiful day of spring and students and professors alike were taking to the lawns. Sherlock was headed for the Chancellor’s office, the evidence of a Dean’s embezzlement in his hand, when he stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze fixed across the crowded lawn.

John ran right into his back. 

‘Sherlock! What the he-’

‘Take it.’ Sherlock shoved the papers into his friend’s hands. John sputtered in confusion, but Sherlock ignored him and immediately strode off the path, weaving his way through the people soaking in the rare sunshine, without breaking his gaze away from the brown-haired girl with a book in her lap.

When his shadow fell over her, she glanced up and a fierce blush stole across her face when she saw him.

‘May I?’ He gestured to the spot next to her. 

She managed a small, shy smile and nodded, pulling her skirts around her bent legs and tucking her hair behind her ear. 

Sherlock sat down, keeping proper distance between them, and glanced at the book she held tightly in her lap. 

‘ _Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease_ ,’ he read the title. ‘You’re studying medicine.’ It wasn’t a question, but her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white and he looked up to see her eyes turn stormy and her jaw clench. Clearly, she was bracing herself for his mockery.

‘Pathology, actually,’ she corrected him, her eyes daring him to say anything derogatory.

A smile bloomed on his face and she blinked in surprise, her guard falling.

He held out his hand and she looked at it in confusion. ‘Sherlock Holmes.’

‘Molly Hooper,’ she replied hesitantly, shaking his hand briefly, but Sherlock held fast when she started to pull away.

‘A pleasure to officially meet you, Molly,’ he said, enjoying the way her cheeks darkened at the sound of her name. ‘We’re going to get along famously.’

* * *

Not many people knew how Sherlock Holmes met his wife. Many assumed they had met when he was working with the Met and she was a mortuary assistant and they had fallen in love over a corpse.

Their close friends, however, knew that they’d met at University, though they thought they’d had a class together and fallen in love over laboratory experiments.

But it was only the two of them who knew that they had fallen in love that first day, inbetween one heartbeat and the next, staring at the other from a bridge and a boat. 

And it was a secret they were content to keep to themselves.


	14. No Refunds, No Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A silly, fluffy fic about our boys being auctioned off for charity. I guess I’m just in one of those cracky Sherlolly moods lately. :) Unbetaed and riddled with grammar and continuity errors, I’m sure. My fault for being too impatient to wait to post. Anyway... Enjoy!

‘You sure you want to go through with this? Any second thoughts?’

Sherlock grimaced as John roughly adjusted his tie, a cheeky grin on the doctor’s face. ‘For the last time, _yes._  But I _am_ beginning to second guess using this particular, ridiculous situation for my purposes.’

‘Just shut up and don’t say anything for the next twenty minutes. Everything will be perfect.’

Sherlock looked at his black tuxedo with a disgruntled frown. ‘Good God, who ever thought of this idea should be drawn and quartered!’ 

John rolled his eyes and fixed his bowtie, admiring himself in the mirror. ‘I think it’s kind of fun. And it’s for a good cause.’ He looked at Sherlock and gave him a cheeky wink.

Sherlock begrudgingly agreed as he ruffled his slicked back hair, bringing the curls forward in frizzy disarray that only served to make him look slightly debauched. 

‘Stop doing that!’ John grabbed the comb from the table and tried to fix Sherlock’s hair, but the detective bobbed and weaved out of the way. John chased him around the room, much to the amusement of the other tuxedo-clad gentlemen.

Suddenly, the door opened and a sleazy-looking man strode in. ‘Alright, boys. It’s showtime!’

* * *

Seven men had already gone and it was down to John and Sherlock. The detective lolled in his seat, bored. John straightened his waistcoat one last time, just as the emcee began his introduction.

‘Any of you beautiful ladies feeling a bit dizzy? Well, hold on to something, we’ve got ourselves a doctor to take care of you!’

John couldn’t help the flush that rose up the back of his neck and filled his face. The emcee milked the gasps and oohs, hamming it up right before the introduction.

‘The famous Doctor John Watson!’ 

John stepped out onto the makeshift stage to thunderous applause and immediately found himself the prey of many a hungry eye. Searching the room, he caught Mary’s gaze. She was giggling behind her champagne glass at his discomfort and he narrowed his eyes accusingly at her.

Beside her, Molly Hooper was graciously holding back her laughter. 

The emcee’s ridiculous pitch was almost instantly interrupted when an older woman in the front raised her paddle and bellowed, ‘200 pounds!’

‘Wow, thank you ma’am!’ The emcee recovered quickly. ‘But surely a date with the famous blogger warrants more than 200 pounds for the Children’s wing. Do I hear 300?’

‘Oh yes!’ A curvaceous woman from the back called out, raising her paddle and waggling her fingers. She batted her eyes at John and gave him a salacious wink. 

John swallowed nervously and looked to Mary for help, who had abandoned all attempts to hide her mirth and was leaning on Molly, both of them laughing uproariously.

The bidding rapidly rose and, to John’s great relief, an older woman in the front row won him for 800 pounds. She smiled sweetly at him and he hopped down from the stage. 

‘You looked mighty frightened there, my dear,’ she said as she shook his hand.

John chuckled. ‘Some of those women looked ready to devour me whole. I thank you for saving me, Mrs Holmes.’

Winking cheekily at him, she patted his cheek. ‘Anytime, love.'

* * *

Molly tried her hardest to stop laughing. Poor John had looked like a lamb being led to the slaughter up there on that stage. She felt a bit guilty about taking joy in his discomfort, but when a nice, older lady won him, she felt better.

Mary wiped her eyes and giggled a bit more. ‘Oh, that was priceless. Can you imagine if anyone else had won him? Some of them looked ready to climb him like a tree!’

They watched as the elder woman winked at John and patted his cheek.

‘I don’t know, Mary,’ Molly teased. ‘You might still have some competition there.’

‘I highly doubt Sherlock’s mother is keen on stealing my husband away. She knows what I can do.’

Molly’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s Sherlock’s mum?’

‘Mmm,’ Mary nodded and sipped her champagne. Her eyes suddenly widened and she exclaimed excitedly, ‘Oh, it’s Sherlock’s turn!’ 

Indeed, the emcee was beginning the final introduction.

‘-famous Consulting Detective! He’s tall, dark, and will solve the mystery of your heart!’

Molly snorted as Mary guffawed. 

‘Sherloooock Hoooolmes!’  

If the applause for John was thunderous, the applause for his friend was downright deafening. Cat calls and cheers preceded the detective’s reluctant appearance. He trudged onto the stage, his curls mussed purposefully, only making him more attractive. 

Molly’s heart skipped a beat. She may have moved on, but her heart had its traitorous moments.

‘He needs no introduction, so let’s start the bidding at.... 1000 pounds!’

Immediately, a half dozen paddles hit the air, even as John shouted out indignantly, ‘1000?! Bloody hell!’

Molly’s humor slowly diminished as the bidding rose. The women fighting for a dinner with the detective were voluptuous, gorgeous, graceful. Compared to them, Molly felt every inch the frumpy, mousy pathologist, despite her form-fitting gown that Mary had assured her only emphasized her assets. 

Not to mention, they were now throwing enough money toward him that it would take Molly six months to earn it.

Sherlock, for his part, looked extremely uncomfortable to be the catch of the day. His face was blank as he stared at the back wall, but Molly could see the tenseness in his shoulders and the clenching of his jaw.

The competition was getting heated now between two women. A blonde with what was a clearly false... erm, front. Her eyes were fixed on Sherlock and promised him a night of debauchery and sin. 

The other was a black-haired vixen, whose dress covered less than it showed. And by the way her tongue ran over her lips, she intended to turn dinner with Sherlock into a ‘dinner’ _of_ Sherlock.

_It’s for the children_. Molly reminded herself. 

But no matter how many times she tried to calm herself, the idea of either of these women winning Sherlock turned her stomach. Her hands shook and her lungs constricted. A feeling, long dormant, deep inside awoke and rose with a vengeance. 

Jealousy.

‘I, erm, have to use the loo.’ Before Mary could even turn to look at her, Molly dropped her glass to the table, the champagne sloshing dangerously, and fled the room. 

Behind her, Mary called out frantically, ‘Molly wait!’

Molly ignored her. She worked so hard, for so long, to bury her love for Sherlock and had finally accepted that Sherlock would only be her friend. Their friendship had flourished and she was more than happy that she was considered his close friend (even though it meant he regularly barged into her flat at unholy hours to drag her out on a case). 

Now those blasted feelings of jealousy were ruining everything! 

Angry with herself, Molly marched down the hall and straight-armed her way outside. 

Screw the loo, she was heading home. 

* * *

Gown abandoned and an indulgent bath drawn, Molly sat on the edge of the tub in her robe and dipped her fingers in the bubbly waters. The scent of lemons and lavender filled the steamy room and she could already feel herself getting lost in the relaxation.

Until, that is, there was a knock on her bathroom door.

_Knock knock._

‘Molly Hooper, I need to speak with you at once.’

Sighing, Molly looked down at the welcoming bath and pursed her lips.

_Knock knock._

‘Molly, now would be a most convenient time.’

‘Well, it’s not convenient for me, Sherlock!’ She called out. The last thing she wanted to do was get dressed again and head out on a case... especially now, when she was trying to repress the rising up of old feelings for the man just on the other side of the door.

She paused, waiting to hear the sound of him huffing and another knock.

Her eyes widened in horror when she heard the tell-tale sounds of the lock being picked.

‘Sherlock!’ She exclaimed as the door swung open and a disgruntled Consulting Detective strode inside. She scrambled to her feet and self-consciously held the lapels of her fluffy robe closed as he crowded her in the small space. ‘What do you think you’re doing?!’

He towered over her, glowering. ‘You left.’

She tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘I... I had a headache.’

‘Lie.’ 

Crossing her arms, Molly frowned up at him and coldly said, ‘Well, I did.’ Her defense was weak, even Anderson would have noticed the way she averted her gaze and blushed. It just wasn’t fair. She couldn’t think straight; Sherlock’s presence was overwhelming and her heart was pounding, the blood rushing from her brain into her cheeks.

Sherlock huffed and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Whatever the reason, you left the charity ball early.’

‘I stayed for nearly three hours. It didn’t matter if I missed the last five minutes of the auction.’ She shrugged. 

‘It did matter.’ He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes accusingly. ‘You were supposed to stay.’

‘Well, I’m sorry I didn’t stay long enough to see you hooked by one of those buxom predators,’ Molly snapped. 

His face cleared suddenly and the corner of his mouth twitched in the semblance of a smile. ‘Oh. I see.’

‘You see _what_?’ 

Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit, he withdrew a folded piece of paper and held it out to her. ‘Jealousy doesn’t become you, Dr Hooper.’

Molly took the paper and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Unfolding it, she scanned its typed contents and all the blood drained from her face. 

Evidently, all their friends had pooled together and, combined with a generous donation from Mycroft Holmes, they had outbid all the others and won Sherlock for a whopping 9000 pounds. And gifted him to Molly.

At the bottom, in Mary’s unmistakable scribble, was a winky face and a cheeky _**Sorry, Molly. No refunds. No returns.**_

Molly licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘Oh,’ she whispered faintly. 

‘You were supposed to be there when Mary made the final bid and they were going to surprise with... well, _me_.’

‘So,’ she said hesitantly, sliding her finger along the edge of the paper, unable to meet his gaze. ‘This was all a scheme and you knew the entire time what they planned on doing?’ _And you were okay with it?_  The unspoken question lingered between them.

‘Yep.’

‘And you went along with it because...?’ She looked up at him now and, in the dim bathroom lighting, saw all the answers she needed in his eyes. 

‘Because I am in love with you.’ 

He said it so simply that, had it been anyone else, Molly would have doubted it completely. But this was Sherlock, who saw the world in black and white, and she knew when he put up a false front. She may have given in to it many times over the years, but she always knew when he was being manipulative and when he was being honest. 

It was only a matter of _believing_ it.

‘So, congratulations, Dr Hooper,’ he said smoothly, stepping into her space and wrapping his arm around her waist. She braced her hands against his chest, her fingers flexing against the taught muscles, the paper crinkling in her hand. ‘What would you like to do with your winnings?’

Molly blinked rapidly, her wit momentarily impeded by the heady feeling of his body slotted against hers. She glanced down at the paper. ‘I-I, erm, I think this o-only entitles me to a two-hour dinner, Mr Holmes.’

‘We can eat a lot in two hours,’ he said with a smirk.

Before Molly could say anything else, his lips were suddenly on hers and she lost herself in the dizzying sensation of being thoroughly kissed by Sherlock Holmes. His hand ran up her back and he threaded his fingers in her loose hair, firmly tugging until she tilted her head back and opened her mouth to his further ministrations.

The paper fell from her hand and she wrapped her arms around his neck, rising up on her tiptoes. Being kissed by Sherlock, a Sherlock who admitted he was in love with her, was everything she’d dreamed it would be. And more. 

Finally breaking apart, breathless and flushed, Molly slowly dropped her heels and bit her lip, staring up at Sherlock shyly. Her heart skittered at the dazed look on his face. 

‘I love you, too.’ She suddenly blurted. His eyes widened and she blushed, quickly stammering, ‘I just thought I should say it, since you said it, and it seemed like a good time to say it back, even though you’ve most likely known I have for the past six years...’ 

She trailed off helplessly. Would she always be doomed to have a mouth that just ran away from her?

He chuckled softly and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. ‘Six years, huh? It seems I have a lot of time to make up for.’

Molly bit back a grin and flicked her eyes toward the paper lying on the floor. ‘Well, fortunately for you, you’ll have quite a long time to work on it. After all,’ she said coyly and raised herself up onto her tiptoes. His eyes darkened and she could feel his heart beat faster as her breath caressed his lips. ‘You’re a gift I apparently can’t return, so I’m afraid I’m rather stuck with you.’

His pout was cut off by Molly’s mouth and by the time she pulled away, he’d quite forgotten what he’d been sulking about and eagerly followed her into the bedroom. 


	15. A Jealous Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluuuuuuuuuuuuuuffffff!!!! Needed a pick me up after a long day. :)

*St Bart's Canteen*  
 **Mary:** So, what's his name?  
 **Molly:** Frederick.  
 **Mary:** *leans forward eagerly* What's he like?  
 **Molly:** *smiles, dreamy eyed* Sweet and cuddly with big hazel eyes, so cute!  
 **Mary:** *giggles, a knowing smirk on her face* And ginger, I assume.   
**Molly:** *groans* I can't help it! Gingers are my weakness!   
**Sherlock:** *undercover in hoodie and jeans, growls and shoves away from the table behind Molly* Ginger, Molly? Really? Do you not recall my admonition that you avoid all attempts at a future relationship? This is the perfect example as to why. *scoffs* Ginger, indeed.  
 **Molly:** *gapes*   
**Mary:** *smiles knowingly*   
**Sherlock:** Now, where is this Francisco?   
**Mary:** *puts hand over heart dramatically* Why, Mr Holmes, you do appear to be a bit jealous of the fair lady's attentions.  
 **Sherlock:** *glares at Mary* Of course I am. It isn't enough that the woman I love is oblivious to my feelings, but insists on dating a *shivers* ginger.  
 **Molly:** *stares, wide-eyed* You love me?  
 **Sherlock:** *rolls his eyes* Obviously. Do keep up, Moll-  
 **Molly:** *jumps up and snogs him rather enthusiastically*  
 **Mary:** *watches on, like a proud mama*  
 **Molly:** *pulls back* I love you, too.   
**Sherlock:** *smugly holding his Molly* Good. Shall we pay dear Franklin a visit to let him know he can find his own girlfriend, instead of poaching mine?  
 **Mary:** *sniggers*  
 **Molly:** *flushes darker* Sherlock, Frederick isn't my boyfriend.   
**Sherlock:** *frowns* He's not? What about the cuddliness and big hazel eyes and your weakness for gingers?  
 **Molly:** *bites her lip, smiling* He's a ginger tabby I just adopted.  
 **Sherlock:** *flushes dark red* Oh.


	16. Unexpected

**Baby Holmes:** *tiptoes to the bed and whispers* Daddy?  
 **Sherlock:** *grunts and blinks one eye open* Whassamattah?  
 **Baby Holmes:** *scrambles onto the bed and cuddles up to Sherlock* We watched the Lion King at Uncle John's today.  
 **Sherlock:** *holds her close and whispers* Did that scare you?  
 **Baby Holmes:** *ducks her head* No. But I was just thinking... Scar hated his brother Mufasa. *bottom lip trembles* What if the new baby hates me?!  
 **Sherlock:** *blinks* What new baby?  
 **Baby Holmes:** *looks up at him with a knowing look* The one in Mummy's belly, obviously.  
 **Sherlock:** *buffers*  
 **Baby Holmes:** Daddy? *whispers louder* Daddy!  
 **Sherlock:** *recovers and beams at her* The new baby will love you so much; you'll be her or his overbearing, protective, brilliant sister and teach her everything you know. And she or he will always look up to you and love you, even if they never say it.  
 **Baby Holmes:** *smiles* Good.  
*An hour later*  
 **Sherlock:** *shakes his wife gently* Molly. Molly!  
 **Molly:** *jolts upright* What? What's wrong?  
 **Sherlock:** *drops a pharmacy bag in her lap*  
 **Molly:** *opens the bag* A pregnancy test? Sherlock, I'm not...  
 **Sherlock:** Humour me.  
 **Molly:** *grumbles and gets up* Wakes me up in the middle of the night to pee on a friggin' stick. He should be happy I love him...  
*Three minutes later*  
 **Molly:** *bursts from the bathroom and tackles Sherlock* We're having a baby!  
 **Sherlock:** *laughs and kisses her* Yes, we are!  
 **Molly:** *happy crying* How long have you known?  
 **Sherlock:** *chuckles* Since our daughter informed me 67 minutes ago.  
 **Molly:** *gapes*  
 **Sherlock:** *shrugs with a proud smile* She is our child.


	17. I'll Follow You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from a lovely, albeit brief, vacation and powering through my many, many, many unfinished drafts (there are a ton... a TON). And found one inspired by the ending of my favourite chick-flick, How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days! :)
> 
> Pretty much gratuitous Sherlock-groveling, motorcycle-chasing, sappy happy ending!

The murmur of voices broke through Sherlock's thoughts and he slowly withdrew from his Mind Palace. Opening his eyes, he took in the battered wall of his flat tacked over with clues from a case he hadn't wanted to take and breathed in deep.

_Ah. John and Mary._

He listened to their whispered conversation from the kitchen. He heard the name _Molly_ drift over and his stomach clenched. It had been five weeks since that night.

The night he'd solved the Fauxriarty case. The night he burst into her flat to make sure she was safe. The night they slept together. The night he snuck away, leaving her rumpled and smiling peacefully in her sleep.

He had purposefully avoided her ever since.

'What about Molly?' He bit out as he strode into the kitchen. John and Mary looked up at him in surprise, then exchanged uncertain, almost guilty looks.

John heaved a breath and stood up, Mary following suit. John crossed his arms and stared Sherlock down. The army doctor was not one to beat around the bush, one of the many reasons Sherlock kept him around. But this time, the doctor's frankness knocked Sherlock's world off its axis.

'Molly's leaving.'

Sherlock froze.

'She took a job in Edinburgh.' By the look she was giving him, Mary knew Sherlock had done something to cause Molly's sudden decision to leave London. 'She leaves today.'

For the span of two heartbeats the three of them stood in an odd staring match. Then, in the blink of an eye, Sherlock spun on his heel and with an almost inhuman speed was out the door and running down the stairs.

John and Mary looked at each other in surprise (with just a hint of an 'I told you so' smile on Mary's face) before they scrambled after him. They burst out into the bright mid-day sun just in time to see Sherlock commandeer a passing motorcyclist. He grabbed the helmet from the confused man and tossed something at him before revving the engine, the tyres squealing, and he shot down Baker Street.

The motorcycle-less driver gaped at his disappearing bike, holding a police badge belonging to a Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

A laugh bubbled out of John's mouth and he pulled Mary against his side as they stared after their friend. 'He'd better ask me to be his best man.'

* * *

Adrenaline surged through Sherlock as he sped through the London streets toward Molly's flat. Molly couldn't leave. She was integral to his work. To London. To _him_. How could she leave?

_Maybe because you bedded her then slipped away like an average scumbag._ He shoved away John's unwelcome voice. He already knew he was a pillock and what he'd done to Molly was unforgivable.

But he desperately hoped that her almost inhuman ability to forgive could extend to him again.

He swerved out of the way of a merging car, causing a chorus of horns to sound around him, which he ignored completely, focused solely on getting to Molly before she left.

He'd been hiding away, losing himself in mediocre cases, to avoid facing what he'd done. Oh, he had no regrets of the night they'd shared. And though the way he'd left was the lowest of the low, that wasn't what made his stomach turn the most.

No. The worst thing he'd done was not tell her what she meant to him. That she was his everything.

Turning onto Grosvenor, Sherlock skidded to a stop at a light. Between the passing cars in front of him, he could see Molly standing outside her flat, hugging her landlady as a cab idled nearby. The old woman dabbed her tears and waved goodbye as Molly let the cabbie take her bag. Sherlock flipped up his visor.

'Molly!' He bellowed, but his voice was lost in the thrum of traffic. She slid into the back and the cab pulled away from the curb. Away from him. Sherlock revved the engine and was about to go full speed through the intersection when the horn of a double-decker brought him up just short of being clipped by the bus. When the bus passed, Molly's cab had disappeared into the sea of cars.

The light turned and Sherlock was gone, his body low as he wove through cars. He slowed down as he came parallel to a black cab and looked in the back.

No Molly.

He sped up and circled around to the next cab. He leaned over to look in the back and found an elderly couple staring back at him in confusion.

Three more cabs and no Molly.

He was getting panicked now, which only made him that much more determined to find her.

A cab several cars ahead turned right and he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of brown hair in the back.

_Molly!_

Pushing the bike to its limit, Sherlock sped through a light and took the corner hard, his knee almost grazing the ground.

Among the London traffic on this street was a single black cab.

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. Quickly, he caught up to the cab and came alongside it. Flipping up his visor, he saw Molly looking out the opposite window.

'Molly!' He shouted, banging his fist on the window. She jumped and turned to him with wide eyes.

'Sherlock?' She mouthed, scooting over and rolling the window down. The wind whipped her hair around her furious and confused face. 'What the hell are you doing?!'

'We need to talk!' He glanced back at the road then back at her. 'Pull over!'

'Are you insane?!'

'Pull over!'

Gaping at him for a moment, Molly finally leaned forward and asked the poor, confused cabbie to pull over. They slowed to a stop and Sherlock kicked the stand down on the bike, pulling his helmet off and tossing it aside as Molly jumped out of the back and slammed the door shut behind her.

'What the _hell_ do you think you're doing? You could have been _killed_!' Her eyes flashed dangerously and he had a sudden flashback to the Slapping Incident. The sun overhead illuminated the red-gold highlights in her hair and he swore for a moment she looked like an avenging angel.

Sherlock swung his leg over the bike and strode over to her, ignoring her gesticulating hands.

'-no longer your pathologist, so find yourself someone else to manipul-mmmpfff!'

He cut her off with his lips, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the other around her waist. Her arms windmilled and she stiffened in surprise. He persisted, his heart pounding in anxious anticipation. Finally, she relaxed and her lips moved against his, turning a desperate kiss into a passionate snog. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she leaned up on her toes, curling her body into his and wrapping her arms around his neck.

The cabbie's honk broke them apart, breathless and panting.

'Molly, I...' He tried not to, but the tinge of desperation in his voice came through clear. He rested his forehead against hers. Her breath caressed his neck and he shivered.

'What… are you… doing?' She huffed and moved her hands down to his chest, punching him lightly over his pounding heart. Pulling back, she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and her lips reddened and swollen (not altogether unappealing, though he knew he could do better). He reached up and cupped her cheek, ignoring the grumbling cabbie watching them in distaste.

'Trying to convince you to stay.'

Hurt and anger flashed across her face and he rushed on.

'Stay here… with me.'

She looked at him dubiously.

'I've been an idiot,' he admitted. 'I am so, so sorry for leaving you that morning. I was a coward and all I can do is beg you to forgive me and give me another chance.' He took a deep breath. 'And I won't screw it up this time. Because I love you. So much. Please, Molly. Please tell me I haven't lost you.'

Tears filled her eyes and he felt his thundering heart plunge into his stomach. Then her lips turned up in a wobbly smile. 'Sherlock Holmes… begging.' Her eyes twinkled.

An answering smile crossed Sherlock's face and his heart suddenly felt as light as air. 'Only for you, Molly.'

Lifting herself onto her tip toes, she wrapped her hands around his neck and tugged him down for a sweet, brief kiss. 'I love you, too. My genius idiot.'

He was just about to steal another kiss when the gruff voice of the cabbie stopped him. 'What you wan' do, lady? I can't waste all day waiting for your lad to get a leg over!'

Molly blushed bright red and the sight of it distracted Sherlock from snapping a reply. Instead, without breaking his gaze from Molly, he reached into his pocket and tossed the man a badge and wallet he'd nicked from Dimmock. 'Take the lady's belongings to 221b Baker Street.' Molly's eyes widened. 'She has other means of transportation.'

With a mumbled curse, the cabbie got back in his car and pulled away. Sherlock took Molly's hand and tugged her toward the bike. He swiped the discarded helmet from the ground and put it on, handing the spare from the back to her with a raised eyebrow.

Grinning madly, she slipped it on and swung onto the bike behind him. He kicked up the stand and turned the motor on.

'Hold on tight,' he called, revving the engine. Her arms slid around his waist and he felt warm all over at the press of her front against the length of his back.

'Always,' she promised.

With a wide grin, Sherlock pushed off the ground and leaned forward, merging into traffic.


	18. The Third Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has been tagging along on Molly's dates for the past few months and scaring them off. But is there an ulterior motive to his actions?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeaaaah, I don't even know. It's been a draft for ages and I just needed to finish something this weekend. Well, I hope you all enjoy this humorous, romantic fluff! :)

And there went another one. 

Molly watched forlornly as her date ran out the door of the restaurant, nearly knocking down a couple trying to enter. 

‘Well, that’s a shame,’ Sherlock lamented insincerely as he propped his feet on the ex-date’s chair and picked up a menu, burying his aristocratic nose inside it. ‘Shall we order?’

Fury like nothing else Molly had ever known welled up inside her. Without a second thought, she picked up her nearly full wine glass and tossed the drink in his smug face.

As he sputtered and wiped his face, she stormed out of the restaurant, ignoring the shocked faces of their other patrons. She rushed down the street as fast as she could, but knew that Sherlock would not be far behind.

She hurried across the intersection just as the indicator turned and hoped she had bought enough time to make it to the tube station before he caught up.

‘Honestly, Molly Hooper, that was rather childish.’

Damn his long legs.

‘Leave me alone, Sherlock,’ she snapped. ‘There was nothing wrong with him and you know it. You always do this, you always show up just when things are going well, and make it all go to pot.’

Sherlock scoffed, dabbing the remainder of the wine from his face and chucking the handkerchief in a bin as they passed it. ‘Considering you are a friend and colleague of mine, I would be most… concerned if something were to happen to you because you chose a poor suitor. I need to ascertain that these men would be worthy of you...' He cleared his throat. 'Your time, that is.'

Molly came to a dead stop and Sherlock doubled back when he realised she was no longer beside him. ‘Listen up, you overbearing, controlling _git!’_

His eyes went wide and he took a step back as she crowded him and jabbed her finger into the center of his chest. ‘You don’t get to decide who I date. If I want to go out and date, kiss, or bloody shag the next man that comes along, I _bloody well will!’_

A passing gentleman slowed down at hearing their argument and his brows rose in surprise. Molly and Sherlock turned to him and he looked at Molly with a leering smile

‘Bugger off!’ They shouted in unison.

The man’s smile dropped and he scurried off in disappointment. 

‘And furthermore,’ Molly rounded on him once more, her finger finding its place painfully deep in his chest. ‘I have had enough of your overbearing, third wheeling, monstrous antics on _my dates!_  I don’t how you’re finding out when or where or with whom they are, but if you show up one more time, I’ll-mmpff!’

Her righteous tirade was cut short when, unable to get a word in edgewise, aggravated and having lost the one smidgen of patience he’d managed to maintain for the last few months, Sherlock grabbed her face and covered her mouth with his. Molly's eyes went wide in shock and her arms windmilled. His kiss was half frustration, half passion and she struggled to pry his hands off her.

But then, oh but then, his passion took over completely. The kiss turned from something awkward and hard to tender and loving and her fury melted away. She closed her eyes and sunk into the kiss until her knees buckled. Her arms wound around his neck and she dragged her fingers through the curls she had dreamed of for so long. By the time he pulled away to let them breathe, the only thing holding her up was his arms, secure around her waist. 

Breathing heavily, Sherlock looked down at her and the depth of emotion in his eyes stole what little breath she had left. 'Apologies, but you just weren't taking a hint.' 

She swallowed and tried to focus on her thoughts and not the phantom feeling of his lips, the way his arms wrapped around her perfectly and protectively.

'You weren't exactly being overt, Sherlock,' she managed to say. 

'I ran off seven men. I should think my intentions were obvious.' 

Molly rolled her eyes fondly. 'Next time, try saying 'Molly, I do believe I like with you. Would you care to have dinner with me?'' She dropped her voice to mimic his deep, posh baritone.

'Next time?!' He asked incredulously. 'There won’t _be_ a next ti-mmpff!' 

Molly smiled against his lips, happy to shut him up the same way he did her. Something told her she would be doing that quite a bit in years to come. 

She relished the look of dazed adoration on his face as she pulled back. ‘So,’ she drew out the word. ‘Is there something you wanted to ask me?’

Smiling almost secretively, he asked, finally, 'Molly Hooper, I am utterly, wholly and completely in love with you. Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me, today and every day for the rest of our lives?’

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. She searched his face for any sign of deception, but could find none. Her heart filled to overflowing and she nodded, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Yes, I would like that. I would like that very much.’

‘I know just the place, then.’ He grinned and stepped away. She felt the empty loss of his embrace, but then he held out his hand. 

She tucked her small hand in his large one. ‘Oh yeah? And where might that be?’

He tugged her close to his side and winked. ‘221B Baker Street.’ 


	19. Of Kisses and Scones

It was the single most romantically-cliché moment he had ever experienced. And he would not have traded it for the world.

The morning sun was pouring into the flat, its misty rays illuminating the drifting specks that never seemed to land. Books of various topics and genres were piled in mountains across every surface, topped with precariously perched tea cups, laptops, and other accoutrements that didn’t quite have their own place to call home.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air and blended perfectly with the smell of savory scones pulled out of the oven not ten minutes ago.

And here he sat in his chair, being fed pieces of said delectable scones interspersed with a kiss or two. Sometimes three.

“I take it you like them,” Molly said with a sweet smile. He hummed in agreement, though he truly thought that as delicious as the scones were, they paled in comparison to the kisses from the woman on his lap. With her hair loose and slightly bedraggled, the dressing gown she had commandeered from his bedroom slipping down one shoulder, and the warm golden sun illuminating her glowing face, she was a goddess.

She held up the empty plate. “Would you like another?”

Sherlock smiled to himself. “Yes, please.”

But before she could get up, he held fast and kissed her deeply. She giggled against his lips and melted into him, the plate dropping to the floor, forgotten, as she ran her fingers through his mussy hair.

“Insatiable,” she breathed when they parted and laid her head in the crook of his neck. Her fingers twirled his curls and he reveled in the sensation, closing his eyes in contentment.

He had wasted so much time. So many years. Had he not been so afraid, for that’s what it truly had been, they would not have had to endure such heartbreak. Him for almost letting the woman he loved walk away and her for having loved a foolish clot.

To his shame, it had taken years and tragedy to bring them to this place. And though his sister’s actions had opened his eyes to the truth his heart had been trying to tell him for years, those same actions had nearly driven Molly from him for good.

But he loved a brave, amazing, and forgiving woman. The road that led them here was rough and there were times he didn’t believe they could make it. But she was stronger than he ever believed and taught him that love is a choice. And she had chosen him.

Just as he had chosen her. He always would.

“Molly?”

She hummed an answer.

“Marry me?”

Her fingers paused in their twirling motion. Slowly she lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes searched his face, not in fear or hesitation, but as if she were memorizing him, locking away the moment in her memory. Just as he was doing.

“Yes.”

One syllable. One word. And it meant more to him than anything. He couldn’t have stopped his smile if he had wanted to.

“I love you.”

And the beautiful woman who had chosen him once again smiled and rested her forehead against his. “I love you, too.”


	20. The Relationship Realization

It was their usual Friday night. After finishing up her ten-hour shift, Molly had headed directly for 221b with the hope of a hot soak in Sherlock’s luxurious bathtub, followed by takeaway in front of crap telly.

Scrubbed raw with her hair piled high in a messy bun and wearing his spare dressing gown, Molly commandeered the couch, propping her feet on the coffee table, and dug in to her favourite meal courtesy of Sherlock. He really did have the best connections.

“Which delightful piece of garbage are we subjecting ourselves to tonight?” Sherlock stepped over her legs and plopped down beside her with his own box of food. 

Molly licked a drop of sauce from her thumb and hummed thoughtfully. “Your pick this time.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “How thoughtful. And if I say we pass on the telly tonight?”

She paused with her fork raised halfway to her mouth and frowned. “Um, sure. Did you have something else in mind? Oh! Are we going to do an experiment on those feet you picked up yesterday?!”

“We could,” he said around a bite of food. “But before we do, I think we need to talk.”

He sounded so serious that Molly couldn’t help trying to lighten the mood. “Are you breaking up with me?” She teased.

He actually seemed shocked. “Of course not! I only wanted to invite you to my parents’ home for their anniversary party.”

Molly dropped her fork into the container. “ _Of course not”?_

“Hold on,” she interrupted, leaning over to set her food down on the table before she made a mess of herself, then waving a hand between them. “What do you mean “of course not”? Do you…do you think we are in a relationship?”

He looked over at her. “Obviously.”

“No we’re not,” she scoffed. “I think I would  _know_ if we were in a relationship!”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “And yet, we are.” 

“No,” Molly emphasized. “We’re not.”

His face fell and he looked at her like a confused little boy. “You… truly did not know?”

She opened her mouth to refute it again, but then thought back on the past few months, and closed it. Dinner every Friday, falling asleep on the couch watching telly, him bringing her coffee every Monday and Wednesday morning at work, finding him in her flat cooking for her on her day off, taking walks together through Regent’s Park on sunny days…

Oh.

_Oh!_

How had she missed that? Her heart pounded and a feeling of surrealism washed over her. She’d been in a relationship with the love of her life for God knows how long and she hadn’t even known! 

“Oh, Sherlock.” She covered her mouth, eyes wide, as she tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I’m so sorry!”

His downcast expression lightened and a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“We’re a couple of idiots, aren’t we?” She chuckled and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“Apparently,” he replied dryly. She looked up at him and immediately they both burst into laughter. 

Wiping tears from her eyes, Molly sighed and snuggled closer to him, turning to wrap her arm around his torso. A thrill shot through her when he pulled his arm from between them to drop it around her shoulder and hold her close.

“So,” she smiled sweetly and tiptoed her fingers along his chest, reveling in the ripple of his muscles underneath her hand. “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight?”


End file.
